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by birdsandivory



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, Boyfriends, Enemy Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kisses, M/M, Scars, Seifer Is No Doctor, Stitching wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:31:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsandivory/pseuds/birdsandivory
Summary: Some things are better left behind closed doors; this includes embarrassing injuries, admittance of concern, and tender kisses.





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**Author's Note:**

> I hardly get requests for these two, and I must admit, I wish I got more! They are so fun to write and I really enjoyed putting this piece together for them; I hope you all like it!
> 
> If you would like to see more drabbles, or request one of your own, visit me on [Tumblr](https://birdsandivory.tumblr.com)!

_“You call my name,_

_I come to you in pieces,_

_So you can make me whole."_

_\- Pieces, Red_

 

* * *

 

“Ow.”

The sting of the needle was something Squall Leonhart was more than accustomed to, having had deep lacerations and bloody wounds from battle sewn shut by more doctors than he could count, often accompanied by a prescription of some sort to ease the ache long after. However, the rough hands of his boyfriend pushing a line through flesh that wasn’t the least bit numb was more painful than he anticipated, and he began wondering if he should have just bitten the bullet and stepped into the Emergency Room instead of sitting on the too soft cushions of the other’s couch. 

But there was a lion’s pride within him, and he would not allow himself examination for anything less than a grievous injury. 

“If you quit moving, it wouldn’t hurt so much, moron.”

Then again, nothing was more grievous than dealing with Seifer.

“I’m starting to think you’re making it hurt on purpose.” The grit of his teeth only staved half the pain, another prick of the needle splitting his skin as the uncomfortable sensation of fine thread licking the inside of his brow left him on edge, shiver running along his spine. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t grateful for the man’s skill, but the lack of consideration behind his precise movements was a bit on the side of irritation. 

“I can, if that’s what you want.” Cyan hues were out of view, as Seifer was standing tall before him, but as the sound of shears quickly clipped the last stitch — he could have bet they were rolling. “There, all done.”

Reaching up to touch along the stiff lines that held together the tenderness, he leant back with a sigh, his partner’s weight crashing beside him — overwhelming the space Squall himself was occupying, but the blond never bothered to think much about his personal bubble. And though he was sure the man wasn’t expecting a show of gratitude — both of them were a bit off-put by the very gesture — he figured that it was warranted anyhow. “Thanks.”

Seifer ignored him, much to his expectation, but it didn’t cease to lift his spirits; some things would never change. Instead, broad shoulders turned his way, handsome face bearing a mirror image of an even older mark they shared — the gunman nearly felt surprise at the look of concern thrown his way. “Looks like it’s going to scar; you would have been better off going to a doctor.”

“…” And maybe he should have, because for once, his boyfriend looked downright unsure of his handywork — but he was no M.D. and he didn’t expect him to be. Squall could only shrug, because after everything they’d dealt with over the years, what was another scar?

The blond took his silence for what it was, crossing one thick, muscular leg over the other as he stretched both arms across the back of the sofa — taking the entire couch as his throne, expression as smug as it always was when he was about to poke a bit of fun. “What are you gonna tell your pals?  _‘Seifer whooped my ass twice’_?”

“Shut up, I left my mark.” A gloved hand reached up between them, slender fingers flicking the long healed scar between eyes he couldn’t decide were too green or too blue, garnering not a reaction from the man who bore them. Squall pressed his lips together as he moved to position himself closer, resting his head upon a clothed bicep. “I’ll…tell them something.”

“Well, you can’t tell them you hit yourself on the car door hard enough to need stitches.” For good measure, it seemed, Seifer gave an amused chuckle. “Kind of embarrassing.”

“Quit it.” The flinch of the man’s body as he swatted his side was satisfying, perhaps in a rather petty and inconsequential way, but it was cause for the twitch of his lips all the same — though, the action of expression did leave an ache, pulsating throb interrupting his thoughts and making him squint his eyes. “Do you have any painkillers? This is going to bother me all day.”

“Nope,” a grin in the man’s voice caught his attention, “but I got something just as good.”

A potion, he was expecting, perhaps even an elixir — as it seemed that Seifer kept plenty around, even if he recklessly refused to use any — would be given to him to ease his hurt, at least so he wouldn’t have to think about taking anything else for a few hours. However, he was only met with warm hands grasping gently his cheeks, and it took a few blinks before he bothered looking the man’s way; he felt him before he saw his face, lips pressed to the freshly stitched wound. It was just barely a touch, enough to know it could have been, but feathery soft — as though Squall could have imagined it if the other pulled away.

His own hands moved of their own accord, wrapping loosely around the blond’s forearms, and he didn’t know if he wanted to push the man away or pull him closer. 

The touch was gone before he could decide, hands still upon his flesh and expressive eyes looking into his own, the silence deafening as they stared at each other. And after the longest moment of his existence, Seifer had the gall to look embarrassed, retreating quickly — crossing his arms and looking away with a grunt. 

How charming.

With the quietest of voices, as quiet as someone like  _him_  could ever be, he opened his mouth to do what he did best — threaten.

“I won’t say shit about the stitches if this never leaves the house.”

Squall smiled a rarity. “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos keep me writing!


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